Pistol Mouth (bad woman to keep)
by ignotumvirtus
Summary: He's good guy, the Die Hard cop. So why is he falling for Amy Santiago, Iannucci's infamous woman? And why does she always seem to have everything under control? His life was supposed to be about the one heroic guy saving everyone, not a criminally-involved girl miraculously rescuing his ass all the time. Gangster!AU of sorts.
1. Curse of Curves

**A/N: AU where Amy Santiago is on the other side of the law, and Jake Peralta is still the lovable and goofy cop. A gangster!fic of sorts, I suppose.**

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I. Curse of Curves

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He's doing a bit of recon at one of the more liberal nightclubs, nothing _too _out of the ordinary. It's after the hours of his usual nine to five work day, but being a detective sometimes requires that extra time of dedication. He doesn't mind, after all, Jake Peralta as a reputation to maintain, being the best cop in the Nine-Nine and all. Hence he's running this undercover mission, for the _FBI _of all people. To say he's totally psyched is an understatement.

His bright mood contrasts with the group of stoic thugs across the room from him, hanging out in the VIP section with lecherous gazes on the women dancing around the room and barking orders at waitresses. The ring leader, Leonardo Iannucci, has got his arm tightly wound around the waist of a girl who honestly doesn't look older than eighteen, and a glass of whiskey in the opposite hand. He's facing away from his girl, whispering to another man who Jake suddenly recognizes as one of the secretaries that works under Lucas Wint.

If it wasn't an odd gesture to do in a nightclub, Jake would have high-fived himself. Unfortunately the club was too dark for Jake to take a picture of the scene unfolding before him, even if he bothered to try. He sighs, even now Jake can't seem to find a way to cleanly close this case. Special Agent Clark occasionally reminded him that patience was a virtue, but all Jake really wants right now is to arrest this guy and start writing his memoir.

"Sir," a waitress prompts, breaking him out of his reverie. She places a Peroni on his table and bends over to pop the cap off for him with towel in hand. He's caught off guard by the fluid movement of her body, clad in black leather pants and a sheer white tank. Unlike most of the other waitresses, who let their hair fall freely over their shoulders, hers is held securely in a bun, and she tucks a loose strand behind her ear as she rights herself. Jake knows this little act is probably a part of her job description, so he shouldn't be surprised when his gaze draws back to her face and she's giving him a disapproving frown. There's a variety of waitresses working around here, and they range from those who genuinely enjoy their job and being brilliant flirts, to those who are very obviously here just to pay another bill. Jake's waitress is obviously sitting at the latter part of that spectrum, but he find she doesn't mind her attitude. In fact, her little frown is actually quite cute.

"Thank you," he does his best to channel the Rex Buckingham smoulder he's been working on in the mirror the last few weeks, but his waitress simply gives him a passive look. Her blank expression could compete with guys on Iannucci's entourage. With the severe bun even a fearless cop like Jake has to admit that she could be intimidating. He decides to switch tactics. "Jake Peralta," he offers, giving her a lopsided smile and sticking out an innocent hand. Her shoulders relax a bit, and Jake makes a mental note to thank Gina. She's right: women tend to treat you better when you treat them as equals.

"Amy," she replies, her voice holding a surprising amount of formality to it. She gingerly takes his outstretched hand, her handshake is strangely appropriate for their setting; a strong grip with two quick shakes, before she releases his hand and draws back.

"You have strong grip, Amy," he blurts, immediately feeling embarrassed from his confession. But Jake has to admit he likes the way her name rolls off his tongue, and he likes it even more when she gives him a miniscule smile. It's really just the quirk of her lips, but it's enough to make him blush. _I haven't felt the touch of a woman in many moons, _he narrates to himself, thinking more of his alter ego, Rex, than himself. Rex Buckingham not getting laid for the sake of the job would actually be pretty noble, but in Jake's case it's just pathetic.

"I took a seminar," Amy smirks, looking proud. Jake raises her a brow.

"Where?" he asks incredulously. She looks smug as she's about to answer, before a familiar whistle comes from the VIP booth. They both turn toward the booth, and Jake's surprised, though again, he really shouldn't be, to find that Leo is calling for Amy. The crime boss beckons her with a single finger, the girl who was previously on his arm now forgotten on the opposite side of the booth. Amy looks reluctant to leave Jake without filling him in on the glorious details of her seminar, but when Iannucci gives her a suggestive look her resolve breaks. She flushes and bites her lips in a way that kind of makes Jake wishes he was Leo Iannucci. Which is a ridiculous in retrospect, because who would want to be a major criminal asshole like him? Amy at least has the decency to give him a proper goodbye.

"In college," she says as she scribbles out his bill, answering his earlier question. She hastily drops the piece of paper on the table, looking ready to run, so he grabs her wrist out of pure instinct.

"When do you work here?" he wonders, cursing himself for sounding totally _not _stalkerish_. _He really needs to get laid, like soon. Amy pauses, taking a step back even with her wrist in his grip, taking a good look at him. Jake feels Leo Iannucci glaring daggers into his forehead behind her, but he's gaze is stuck on her lips. They're, as Charles would say, _ample. So ample. _He swallows as his eyes trail up to hers, finding that she's staring back at him intently.

She's definitely come to some sort of decision when she snatches her wrist out of his hand, that satisfied smirk crawling onto her face again. Her eyes hold a bit of mischief as she slowly backs away from him.

"Nope," she singsongs, wagging a finger at him. "Don't even think about it, Jake Peralta. I am not the woman for you." Even as she says this Jake's distracted by the way her hips swing back in forth, and he swears he can hear Iannucci chuckling from here.

"Oh," Jake mumbles, more embarrassed than before, but refusing to look Iannucci in the eye if, in fact, he was laughing at him. Instead he gathers up the courage to lift his gaze back up to Amy's, a slightly frustrated sigh escaping his lips when he realizes just how pretty her face looks even in the club's shitty lighting. He wishes he noticed that first, maybe she would have liked him better. Then he freezes, realizing just how much he didn't know about her _This is stupid and you still need to get laid, _Jake thinks again, but he still hands over his parting words to Amy.

"Ah. I guess I can dream, right?" Jake admits, running a hand through his hair. Amy looks actually affected by his put-out words, but she doesn't offer him pity.

"You can," she teases instead. "I work here every other weekend." Amy then nods purposely to the bill on the table. "You seem like an good, upstanding guy, Jake," she says, as he turns over the bill. "You really don't want to mess around with someone like me." Jake's heart rate skyrockets when he barely makes out her number on the back of the paper, followed by a short note that can't be properly read in this lighting. He glances back up at Amy to question her, but she already has her back turned to him.

He gapes, caught off guard by the large piece tattooed onto her back. It's kind of unclear through her sheer tank and the dark setting, but he still can make out the seven branches of a tree, through the series of strobe lights that hit her back. taking The tree takes up most her back, and from what he can tell the trunk follows the line of her spine, the roots trailing off around the small of her back.

Jake follows Amy's hands as she gracefully takes out her hair tie and clip, hair tumbling down her back and hitting just below the shoulders. She has the nerve to wink at him over the shoulder before strutting over to Leo Iannucci.

The high school-looking girl from before watches the scene play out, just as slacked-jawed as Jake, but she has the pride necessary to walk away before Iannucci gathers Amy into his arms.

Their kiss is like the ones from Nicholas Spark-esque chick flicks, the kind Jake would never admit to dreaming about when he listens to his Taylor Swift mixtapes. Iannucci holds her waist and grabs a fistful of her hair, deepening the kiss while Amy clutches his shirt tightly. He practically swallows her, but Jake has to admire the way she fiercely kisses back, channeling a passion he wishes she'd directed at him instead. They break apart with what Jake's sure is an audible smack, at least from that table, and Amy is left panting with bruised lips. She trails a hand up Iannucci's chest and whispers something to him, and Jake watches as the man goes still. For a moment, Iannucci seems conflicted as he shuts his eyes, mumbling to himself.

Finally, he opens them and leads Amy frantically towards the exit, still muttering to himself all the way across the room. They pass by Jake's table and Leo Iannucci doesn't give him a second glance. Amy winks at him again as she's dragged away, nodding to the paper.

Jake sighs, deflating in his seat. He takes a swig of his beer, turning over the bill again to try and make out her messy handwriting. He imagines that when she's not in a rush her penmanship would be quite impressive, because even this little note is surprisingly legible once he's produced some light from his phone. He sputters when he finally makes out the contents of the note.

_Looking forward to seeing you next Saturday, Detective Jacob Peralta._

His blood runs cold.

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**To be honest I wrote this all the night before with no planning whatsoever so I have no idea where I'm going with this fic or if it's even capable of turning into an actually story, but we'll see.**

**I just really wanted Amy Santiago to be a badass criminal. Like that's all the justification I have.**


	2. Water's Sweet, Blood is Thicker

**A/N: This fic is probably never going to have an regular update schedule, sorry about that.**

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II. Water's Sweet, Blood is Thicker

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Amy lied.

It's probably not the first time she's lied to someone and it's certainly not the last.

He shouldn't trust her, really he shouldn't, but Jake liked the way her hips swayed back and forth effortlessly while she strutted around the nightclub, and how she could captivate men with her eyes more than her body. She's got a self-confident feel to her walk, not overly conspicuous but noticeable enough that it turns heads, even for a fraction of a second. He has admitted to himself since that night at the at club that however dangerous Amy might be, she sure was a knockout.

But unfortunately, Jake Peralta is ticked the fuck off. Because he waited here, like the idiot he can sometimes be (blame all the cute people in the world), since opening time at 9 PM sharp. Then he finds out that she has off tonight. It's thirty to midnight when he's certain that Amy bailed on him, so he goes out through the back alleyway to escape the suffocating night club atmosphere, and runs right into her.

Their collision causes her cigarette to fall out of her mouth, but she's quick enough to save it with the tips of her fingers. She swivels around angrily, probably ready to punch the lights out of someone, until Amy realizes its just him. She grunts out a greeting before bringing the cancer stick back to her mouth, inhaling to calm her nerves.

"I'm assuming we're going to talk and you're not going to blow smoke in my face-" He's cut off when she blows a perfect ring to his right, the arc just hitting his ear. Jake knows she's purposely doing it to aggravate him, and he searches desperately for some kind of comeback. She does bother to give him enough time, instead Amy turns on her heels without saying a word, and walks off into the main street, beckoning to him with one hand and not even looking back to see if he was following.

Jake sighs and shakes his head, reluctantly chasing after her. He doesn't like the situation and she's probably leading him to his grave right now, but anything's better than returning to Special Agent Clark in a body bag. He'd rather a bunch of gangsters burn his body and release his ashes to the wind than leave Gina with burden of decorating his body in flower crowns and covering him in an angry unicorn blanket. Besides, if gangsters kill him then he really might have the chance to die in a fiery explosion and then Boyle can commit suicide at his funeral out of respect.

In retrospect, the entire idea is pretty depressing, but with the exposure of his identity on the line, it's not one Jake can just ignore. He also can't ignore the lack of skin she's showing once they step into the light of lamp post. Amy has opted for a simple blue blouse and jeans, a strong contrast to the uniform from a week ago. Jake He chooses not to say anything, afraid he might make her bad mood worse.

Amy finishes the cigarette and snubs out the rest of it, holding onto it instead of dropping it on the ground. He's surprised when she diligently throws it in a community trash bin, Jake didn't think criminals followed any laws, even if the most basic ones.

"Is littering one of those unspoken codes criminals abide by?" he wonders aloud.

Amy cracks a small smile, "Who says I'm a criminal?"

"You know criminals," Jake states, waiting for her to take the bait. If she can confess on behalf of Leonardo Iannucci, he can make a deal with her and bag this case. Instead, Amy hums, her lips still quirked up: she knows what he's doing and she won't give in.

"Come on, Detective," she urges, purposely using his title to remind him of his predicament. "We've got places to go."

"No people to see, I hope," Jake chuckles, but the sound is admittedly forced. He feels sweat starting to gather at the base of his neck. She has the nerve to laugh at him, sensing his discomfort.

"No, not today," she assures, watching as relief sets into his bones. Jake practically melts in the pavement. "I still haven't decided what to do with you." Jake's shocked by her honesty, but remembers no to take her words to heart. Still, he can't help but ask his next question:

"Leonardo Iannucci doesn't know about me," he confirms.

"Leo," she corrects, with a bit of affection in her voice that Jake swears doesn't make him envious, "does not know who you are. Yet."

"But you plan to tell him," Jake sighs in dejection. At least she's given time to think his way out of this.

"No."

"No?" he looks up hopefully.

"No. He won't know if we can come to our own little agreement," she amends.

"Of course," he nods enthusiastically. Compromising he can do. He's arguably the master of getting the best bang-for-your-buck when it comes to dealing with accomplices.

"Not now of course," she waves his aspiration away with a single, dainty hand.

"Then what?"

"Ice cream," she nods up ahead to an ice cream parlor, where a couple of kids are still milling around inside.

"Who the hell sells ice cream at midnight?" he asks, instead of the more important question of why she would want ice cream at midnight.

"Don't question the way people run their business," Amy admonishes gently, taking him by the hand and leading him inside. He's pleased to see her neck flush when he squeezes back, but the scent of rocky road gets to him before he can call her out on it.

"You're buying," Jake tells her immediately. Amy gives him an incredulous look.

"You're the man," she prompts.

"And this could be my last meal before death row, for all I know," Jake smirks to himself over the rhyme he creates. Why would I pay?" he continues reasoning, watching with satisfaction as her shoulders drop.

"Fine," Amy grumbles, marching over to the glass case. "One small rocky road, please. With Oreo's," she tells the employee, then turns back to Jake, "And you?" He's so in awe by their similar tastes and that fact that she said 'please' that it takes him a moment to find his voice.

"Same," Jake manages, choking on his own tongue and causing the employee to give him a funny look. Amy rolls her eyes when he goes into a coughing fit and hands the employee a ten.

"Keep the change," she mutters and the employee nods gratefully as Amy struts away with her cup. Jake scrambles to grab his own and follows her to one of the booths by the window, then takes the seat opposite from her. He's still unsure of what to say, still shocked by the kindness and appropriate behavior she displayed. Amy doesn't even look up from her ice cream when she speaks.

"Stop staring," she snorts, spooning a marshmallow into her mouth. "Just because I don't play by your rules doesn't mean I'm a lawless heathen."

"I just assumed -" Jake starts, cut off by the glare she suddenly gives him.

"That's what you all do, isn't it? Assume you know everything," she snaps, her gaze burning into his. He sputters out a some type of response, but Amy just shakes her head angrily. "Forget it, Peralta. I shouldn't expect you to understand anything." Her tone shifts into something more bitter, and he can feel her resentment despite not knowing what he did wrong.

"Sorry," he mumbles around the spoon in his mouth. Amy sighs and drops her spoon, leaning back in her seat to get a good look at him. Jake squirms under her analytical gaze, but keep his eyes steadily on her face.

"It's not your fault. It's your job," Amy concedes, picking up her spoon and shoveling ice cream into her mouth again. He stares dumbly as her tongue peaks out to catch a stray drop of chocolate ice cream. She smirks when she catches him watching, deliberately running her tongue over her bottom lip to tease him.

"Speaking of which," Jake transitions, trying to sound as casual as possible while pretending he wasn't just transfixed by her mouth. "How… exactly do you know about my job?"

"Classified," she smirks, and Jake kind of hates the way Amy knows that's a cop's line. This little role-reversal of theirs is starting to get a little irritating.

"You do realize I could arrest you right now and come up with evidence against you in less than forty-eight hours, right?" he threatens, doing his best to sound intimidating.

"You could. You wouldn't find anything," she replies, silently calling him out on his bluff. Jake swallows down another bite of ice cream to buy time to think.

"So you're not one of them," he states.

"I'm going to assume by 'one of them' you mean the Iannucci's," she confirms, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear. "No I'm not, but I do have ties with them I'd prefer to severe."

Jake grins, "You want out." He can work with that: an accomplice with no criminal record, ready to spill in exchange for a new start. He's seen this play out smoothly too many times before, there's no way he can screw it up.

Amy shakes her head, just as the bells on the front door chime, alerting everyone of a new customer.

"Not me," she smiles sadly, her eyes no longer on him. "I want him out."

The man at the door stands awkwardly amongst the children in the shop, a comical six foot-something compared to the four foot-somethings surrounding him. He's got tattoos sleeves and a industrial bar piercing on his left brow, and Jake can just make out the outline of gun tucked into the waist of his jeans. He's got an amazing jawline and calculating brown eyes that Jake recognizes from the mugshots of old cases.

This guy is one of Iannucci's boys, one of the dirty workers who take all the slack for the crimes the gang commits. He's got a long list of wrongdoings on his file back at the nine-nine, mostly involving manslaughter. That's what he's known for: killing people that pissed of the Iannucci's with his bare hands And maybe an axe, depending on his mood; Jake's not entirely sure how the thought process works when it comes to planning the dismemberment of living people. Regardless, the burden he's taken for the Iannucci family shows: covering that beautiful face and toned body (which even Jake can admit is model-worthy) is an array of scars and bruises. However, this guy has the nerve (or maybe the idiocy) to wear his marred skin like a medal, holding himself proudly so that everyone notices his presence.

"That's Misael Santiago," Jake swallows as Misael's surveying gaze falls on him. There's a striking similarity between him and Amy, especially when Misael gives him a wolfish grin. That smile is enough for Jake confirm what he already suspected when Misael walked in.

"Your full name is Amy Santiago," he says, hating the way his voice almost gets caught in his throat and the way Amy laughs while nodding in affirmation. "You're the sister of Misael Santiago."

"Correct," she nods, while Misael drops himself into the same booth as Jake. Misael's overwhelming bulkiness and stature force Jake into the corner, but he does his best to keep his back straight. Misael gives him a predatory grin before locking eyes with his sister.

"Looks like we have some talking to do," Misael chuckles, patting Jake on the back hard enough to make the smaller man cough up his entire abdominal cavity. Jake glances up at Misael, catching the knowing look he gives his sister.

This can't be good.

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**I have no clue what I'm doing with this fic still, so I'm anticipating the next chapter as much as you are!**


	3. Little Scarlet, Starlet

**A/N: This fic is probably never going to have an regular update schedule, sorry about that.**

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III. Little Scarlet, Starlet

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Misael gives him a once over before taking Amy's spoon from her, greedily digging into her Rocky Road.

"Hey!" Amy cries indignantly, swatting her brother's massive bicep. If Jake wasn't scared shitless right now he might have found their antics amusing.

"Gotta let a man eat, sis," Misael informs, turning to Jake for confirmation. "Right?"

"R-Right," Jake stutters, doing his best to smile back. Amy hides her grin behind a delicate hand.

"So you're Iannucci's new boy, huh?" Misael asks suddenly, shifting his entire body around to look at Jake properly. "Jake Peralta?"

"That's right," Jake swallows, sitting up straighter. Amy stifles a laugh, and Jake feels himself flush in embarrassment. Misael's eyes narrow, darting between Jake and his sister.

"So what are you hanging around my sister for?" Misael questions, hand curling around the little ice cream spoon he's holding. Jake imagines his neck in it's place; he's sure this guy could easily suffocate him to death if he tried.

"_Basta_, Misael. I invited him out," Amy explains, grabbing Misael's wrist. Her small hand can barely wraps around it. Misael huffs, pulling away from her and giving Jake a resigned look.

"In that case," he begins. "I suppose you won't be needing the usual 'older brother threats,' from me then, right?" He drops a hand onto Jake's shoulder, squeezing hard enough to pop it out of it's socket.

"Right," Jake nods quickly, relieved when Misael immediately releases his hold on him. The bigger man quickly devours the rest of Amy's ice cream, then moves to stand up.

"Well then," Misael says, awkwardly bending down to plant a kiss on his sister's cheek. She smiles sweetly when his lips brush her skin, eyes brightening considerably. Misael turns back to Jake, his posture still stiff, "I was sent here to inform you that we have a meeting at Canarsie Pier tomorrow night, 8pm sharp."

"Shipment?" Amy guesses, smirking when her brother gives her an annoyed look.

"Yes," Misael confirms, pointedly keeping his gaze on Jake. Amy rolls her eyes, collecting the trash on the table and Jake's now-melted ice cream.

"I'll be there," Jake promises, sliding up and out of the booth. Amy follows, all of them heading toward the exit. Misael gets out first, Jake being held back by Amy who dutifully throws out their trash.

Jake offers Amy his leather jacket just as Misael mounts his motorcycle.

"Peralta," Misael calls, making the smaller man jump in alarm. Jake secures the jacket around Amy's shoulders before turning back to the bigger Santiago. Misael stares back at him with a contemplative look, and he seems to have come to a conclusion about something as he speaks again. "Make sure she gets home safely," he orders, starting the engine.

Amy snorts, "I can take care of myself, thank you very much, _hermano_."

"I know," Misael grins. "Which is why I'm trusting you to kick his ass for me if he screws up."

Amy laughs, "He won't." As Misael drives off, she takes Jake's hand in hers and looks up at him seriously. "I'll make sure of it." Jake shudders under the intensity of her gaze, trying to shake off the overwhelming reverberation of emotion he feels for her.

"So," he says, drawing out the word as he squeezes her hand. "He's given me permission to walk you home I guess?" It comes out sounding like a question, but Amy giving him a mischievous grin nonetheless.

"Among other things," she insinuates, letting go of his hand so she can wrap an arm around his waist.

"Really?" Jake inquires, because he's an idiot and he really likes it when she flirts with him.

"No," Amy deadpans, the corners of her mouth lifting when she catches his comically crestfallen expression. She doesn't offer him any words of comfort, just leads him along the path to her home.

"Why didn't you out me to your brother?" Jake wonders, breaking their silence. Amy sighs, forcibly stopping both of them in their tracks. Jake cocks a brow at her curiously.

"Because I hate him," she replies simply, continuing to walk as if her words held no weight.

"Why?" Jake probes, jogging to catch up with her.

"He's a coward," she tells him. Jake gives her an incredulous look, that certainly wasn't the answer he was expecting. "They all are," she snaps, hands curling into fists. He reaches hesitantly for her hand, wondering if it was okay to touch her like she did, but Amy angrily rips her hand away from him. He tries not to look as put-out as he feels. "Just a bunch of _hermanos_, who leave their _hermanas_ and their _madres_-" Amy swallows down the tears before they can even emerge, and all Jake can do is stare back at her. "And for what? Money? Fame? Fraternity?" She shakes her head and quickens her pace, leading them to a neighborhood of shoddy old houses. They're all blocked off with broken chain-linked fences and decrepit locks, each house's paint job worse than the next.

"Amy I-" Jake starts.

"Save it," she snarls back. "You brought it up because you want answers, right?" Jake nods dumbly, too much in shock to do anything else, really. "Fine," she grits out. "You're going to keep Misael safe during that job at the pier, then you're going to find out what you want to know."

"How?"

Amy smiles bitterly, "For such a jackass of a brother, he always comes home on time for Sunday dinner." Jake feels like he's missing a big joke, but he doesn't dare to question her further on that subject matter.

"How do you know he wants me over for dinner?" Jake asks instead. "He doesn't seem exactly _fond_ of me." They stop in front of a single-floor yellow house, the lights all off except for one room where Jake can see a candle burning from the window.

Amy stops to open the gate, "He's not the _only_ brother eager to meet my new boyfriend." She purposely refuses to meet his gaze, stepping into the yard. Jake catches shadows moving through the curtains in the window behind her, and it isn't long before six faces are staring back at him. Amy must sense their presence from behind her, because she shuts the gate and leans over it, her face suddenly in front of his and obscuring his view. "Make a good show," she whispers, just as her lips slide over his.

Amy tastes like chocolate and kisses him the way she kissed Leo back in the club. She tugs him closer by his button-down and angles her head to deepen the kiss, and Jake's hands are frozen on her shoulders. He just starts kissing back when Amy breaks away, huffing in annoyance.

"Too little, too late, Peralta," she frowns, wagging a finger at him. He tries to reach for her again to prove his worth, but Amy easily escapes his arms. "Bup, bup, bup," she teases, locking the gate to prove her point. "Tomorrow night," she promises, turning on her heels and towards the front door, where Jake spots at least three guys waiting for her. The tallest one gives him a violent gesture before shutting the door, Amy (safely?) tucked inside.

Jake sighs, rubbing his hands over his face as he pulls out his burner phone.

He needs to call Clark.

* * *

"So let me get this straight, she has-"

"Seven brothers, documented," Agent Clark repeats for what is probably the fifth time. Jake flops onto his shitty mattress in his shitty cover-aparment and forces his tired brain to function properly.

"And five are in-"

"Involved in some sort of organized crime, yes," Agent Clark cuts him off, and Jake can just imagine the over-worked CIA specialist pinching the bridge of his nose.

"What about the other two?"Jake inquires, licking his lips. He can still taste Amy's strawberry lipgloss even after the long walk home.

"The third brother is dead, shot by one of our very own." Jake cringes at that; the idea of Amy having to bury one of _her_ own is enough to make him queasy.

"And the other?"

"The eldest? No clue. He's been off the grid since his high school graduation."

"Should I ask Amy about it?" Jake wonders.

"_Ms. Santiago_ probably wouldn't know," Agent Clark guesses, his voice sounding harsher than necessary. "She wasn't even born when he left. She's the youngest," he reminds.

"Should we track him?"

"He's not important. He hasn't even made a sound since he fell off the grid," Clark says more forcefully.

"We should still track him," Jake repeats, though he know now Clark probably _won't_. He makes a mental note to put in a call to Rosa tomorrow morning. Clark must have heard the resignation in Jake's voice, because his next statement is noticeably calmer.

"Already working on it," he lies, sounding bored. "Just keep tabs on the Santiago family, Jake. They could be more involved with the Iannucci's then we know."

"Alright," Jake sighs, unbuttoning his shirt in preparation for bed.

"Anything else you have to say to me, Detective Peralta?" Clark prompts. Jake considers telling him about Amy's discovery of his identity, but decides against it. Clark might pull him out of the mission if he knew.

"Nope," Jake answers cheerfully, popping the 'p' in the word. "Nothing at all, sir."

"Right," Clark says flatly. "Don't go falling in love with the enemy, Peralta. Remember, at the end of the day they're nothing but a bunch of dirty criminals."

Jake wants to argue, to tell Clark that Amy's _more _than that, to defend her honor, but he finds himself speechless.

"You're right," Jake finally manages, shrugging off his button-down and kicking off his jeans. He turns the light off as he settles into bed.

"Of course I am. Sleep tight, Peralta. Sounds like you've got a big day tomorrow."

"Wish me luck," Jake mumbles, shutting the phone without waiting for a response.

He falls asleep replaying the moment when Amy's lips were against his, and wakes up wishing she was tucked into his side.

For some reason, he mind is stuck on the image of Amy worrying about her brother, eyes clouded with fear and anger as she declares that she hates Misael. Jake never really believed that she hated her brother, and he still doesn't.

She holds too much passion for that, a certain amount of affection and care for others that he knows is rare to find among the slums of Brooklyn.

It's not even surprising, now that Jake's thought about it, that Leo Iannucci likes Amy the way he does, she's practically a light to all those insects.

_Screw Clark_, Jake curses to himself. Amy Santiago can't possibly be as bad as they all make her out to be, she just_ can't._

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**On the bright side, I have (finally) come up with a plot for this fic.**


End file.
